


The Shades of Christmas

by EndoratheWitch



Series: Holiday Drabble requests [15]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: A Christmas Carol AU, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Deaf child, F/M, Future, Ghosts, Human AU, Past, Reconciliation, Regrets, Shooting, Smoking, cursing, pregnant Dawn, present, reclamation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 22:53:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndoratheWitch/pseuds/EndoratheWitch
Summary: Bog is visited by three ghosts in hopes of making him change for the good on Christmas Eve.





	The Shades of Christmas

Bog King sat at his desk, his fingers steepled, the one light on the desk casting his long, sharp features in shadow while he glared at the man in front of him. The room smelled of Lucky Strike cigarette smoke, and cold, it smelled of cold Sunny thought, he wouldn't be surprised to see ice creeping down the walls. Bog looked like an undertaker in his black three-piece suit with not an inch of color to be found anywhere except in the ice of his blue eyes. Bog sat back and ran his thumb and forefinger over his black goatee and stared hard at Sunny. “Please, Sunny Namid, tell me again why you don't have my money. Enlighten me please.” 

Sunny, a short man, his skin a tawny brown, sat rigidly and stared at Mr. King with his chocolate brown eyes huge with distress. He was dressed in a simple brown suit, white shirt and gold tie, he kept rubbing the fingers of his hand, switching hands every few seconds. “Well Mr. King you see, it's Christmas time and well...” 

“Christmas? Christmas time? A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every time December the 25th rolls around.” Bog sat back in his chair staring at the shorter man. Bog's eyes were a clear summer sky blue, at odds with the rest of the dark shadows of his face. He sighed reaching out to pick up the package of cigarettes that sat on the edge of his desk just outside the beam of the lamplight. He tapped one out and set it between his lips before picking up the book of matches from the shadows to light the cigarette. Sunny watched all this with a look of fear etched onto his features. The light from the match caused deep shadows to leap and flicker along Bog King's face reminding Sunny of some goblin or other night creature. He trembled in his seat because he had been sure when Bog King moved, he was going to be pulling out a gun. Everyone knew that Bog King was armed, even when you thought ht wasn't. 

“Now..” Bog took a pull on his cigarette. “We have a problem Mr. Namid. I want my money, but you don't have my money. So what am I going to do? Break your legs? Your face, hands? Go to your house and threaten your lovely wife? Dawn, that's her name isn't it?” 

Sunny squeaked. “Please Mr. King! I'll do anything! It's Christmas eve! Please, give me some time.” 

Bog blew out a long stream of smoke. “I know what day it is Mr. Namid. My father, who held this position before me, died seven years ago this very day.” Bog inhaled on the cigarette, the end burned a bright red in the darkened room. 

Bog seemed to contemplate the burning end of his cigarette.“So, I know well what day it is...” 

Bog chuckled nastily. “It's Christmas? It's Christmas? If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.” Bog narrowed his eyes at Sunny, the smoke from his cigarette drifted around Bog's head creating the illusion of a demon emerging from hell. 

“You will get me my money Mr. Namid, and you will have it at my door Christmas morning or I will be forced to take...unsavory measures.” 

Sunny stood up knocking the chair back. “Yes Mr. King yes! I'll...I will figure something out.” 

King smiled. “I know you will.” 

Bog smiled, though it was a smile that didn't reach his eyes, as he watched Sunny scramble up from his chair and leave the room stumbling over himself to get away. Bog leaned over crushing the end of the cigarette into the ashtray on his desk. He liked that people feared him. He liked to watch them scramble to get away from him. He liked being alone. 

* 

Bog sighed before he reached over and picked up the pack of cigarettes again, hit the end of the pack to shake another one free. He picked up the book of matches from his desk once more, striking the match in the dimly lit room and held it to the cigarettes end. He took a few puffs then inhaled deeply enjoying the burn before he let out his breath on a cloud of smoke. Always, every year without fail, someone or several someones would come begging him for more time to pay back the money they owed him and every year he had to teach someone a lesson. Bog took a long pull on his cigarette leaning back in his chair. God, he hated people, stupid hateful people. He had learned long ago, no one cared about anyone else. People were heartless, cruel and anything resembling kindness didn't exist in humanity...so why should he be kind, why should he care? 

Bog worked hard to cultivate his image, to make people fear him, to keep people as far away from him as possible. He didn't want anyone close to him. If people got too close they hurt you, disappointed you...Bog liked his solitude, his isolation, the coldness of his heart. He couldn't get hurt...he couldn't love anyone. Nor would anyone love him in return. Not after her...Bog closed his eyes trying not to think about her, the only woman he had ever loved...would ever love. Talk about another stupid emotion, Bog thought to himself—love...there really was no such thing. Bog blew out a ring of smoke standing up to stalk his office. 

As he stepped near a filing cabinet, Thang and Stuff came barreling into his office, singing at the top of their lungs. “Merry Christmas!!” 

Thang, or Theodore, was a short man with moppy brown hair and large mud-green hazel eyes behind huge glasses. He smiled a crooked tooth grin and wore a large Christmas wreath around his neck. He worked for Bog as his IT guy. Thang was extremely intelligent and knew computers and computer systems better than Bog knew the back of his own hand. He dressed like a reject from a “Guys and Dolls” theater production, tending to wear suspenders and striped jackets with large shoulder pads. His girlfriend, Stuff, or Stephanie, was one of Bog's enforcers. She was a large woman, a good head taller than her boyfriend Thang, and built like a linebacker. She usually wore her hair shaved off, but had, in recent weeks, been growing it out into a mohawk which she currently had dyed red and green, Bog would assume for the holiday. Both of them were wearing wretchedly ugly Christmas sweaters. 

Bog just crossed his arms, the cigarette hanging from his lips and stared at the two of them in disgust. 

Bog snarled. “What are you two doing?” 

Thang grinned showing off a mouth of crooked, but clean teeth. “I'm here to invite you to Christmas dinner, sir! Stuff and I are having our yearly party and we wanted to invite you.” 

Bog narrowed his eyes, exhaled smoke in a frustrated puff. “Do I ever come to your stupid party?” Thang frowned, his smile dropping just a hint. “Well, no, but we invite you every year, sir, hoping one year you'll come.” Thang gave him a big toothy grin, Stuff doing the same and put her arm around Thang's slim shoulders. 

Bog's left eye twitched and he muttered. “Humbug.” 

Thang pouted, putting out his bottom lip. “You don't mean that sir.” 

“I do. Damn you and damn your Merry Christmas,” Bog snarled turning around presenting his back to the couple. “What's Christmas ever done for either of you except remind you that you're another day older and not a penny richer.” 

“Christmas is a beautiful time, a good time. It's never done nothing for, me but you know sir, I love Christmas all the same.” Thang smiled. 

Bog groaned. “You can keep your Merry Christmas. Now get out.” 

“Sir? Please, won't you come?” Thang treed again, his eyes looking huge and hopeful behind his glasses. 

Bog snarled turning and hissing. “Why do you keep asking me?! Christmas is a humbug!! I hate it.” 

Thang frowned, his bottom lip trembling again. Stuff gave Bog a dirty look as she turned Thang around. “Come on honey.” Stuff put her large, muscled arm around her boyfriend's shouders. 

Bog narrowed his eyes watching them go. When they shut the door behind them, Bog collapsed into his chair with a sigh. He leaned on his elbow, put his fingers to the bridge of his nose, his cigarette danging from the fingers of his other hand, his brow furrowed in pain. Why couldn't people just...leave him alone? 

* 

Sitting in a small cafe somewhere in the city, Marianne slammed her coffee cup down on the table, coffee sloshing over the top. “What?” 

Dawn looked down at the spilled coffee, upset. “He borrowed money from a loan shark.” 

Marianne turned her eyes to Sunny. “Why on earth would you do that?” 

“I was desperate Marianne. After the accident...” Sunny looked at Dawn. It was hard to see the scars on her face from the accident, but the pain was still there in her eyes, he could see it just as plain as day. A year ago the two of them had been in a bad car accident caused by a drunk driver. They had both been out of work for a long time, both badly injuried, but it was Dawn who had suffered the most. She was still on the road to recovery, but now they had a chance at a new life...at least that was what he had hoped. Sunny had started working again, but it just wasn't enough and now Dawn was pregnant. 

“I wanted to give Dawn the Christmas she deserved. I wanted to get the things we needed for the baby...and there are other things we need...” Sunny said in a whisper hanging his head. “I thought I would be able to pay the money back...and I could, if he would only give me another week! After the holidays. But he wants his money tomorrow.” 

Dawn reached out and took his hand, wrapping it with her own. Marianne sighed. She understood. “Who is this loan shark? Maybe I could talk to him?” Marianne asked. 

Sunny frowned. “You're not going to like this...” 

Marianne frowned in response. “I already don't like it, but what do you mean?” 

“It's Bog—Bog King,” Sunny revealed softly. 

Marianne, who had been leaning forward, flopped back against her seat. Bog. Bog King. Her heart twisted hard in her chest. That name. They had been in love once...well. No, that wasn't accurate. She had to admit to herself that she was still in love with him despite all the years apart. No one had moved her heart like Bog, and no one ever would. They had been just kids when they had been together...but she had broken it off with him as Bog was being pulled into his father's world of crime. Bog had been too afraid to fight back against his father. And Marianne—she had said some awful things to him then, left him that day standing in the snow. She had regretted that day ever since. Maybe, if she hadn't been so pig-headed and stayed with him she could have helped Bog...but she had been young, head-strong and self-righteous, so sure of herself being right that she hadn't thought about exactly how hard it was for Bog coming from a crime family, to actually fight against his own family, to make a place for himself that might not involve a life of shady deals and breaking the law. She had walked away when he needed her the most. 

She had tried to find him again when she realized how much she loved him, how she wanted to fight beside him, but after their break up he had simply disappeared. Yet now... 

“You mean he's here in the city?” Marianne asked, her voice low. 

Sunny nodded. “Yeah, he's been running the poker and illegal gambling since his father died.” 

“His father died? When?” Marianne asked while she picked up her coffee and took a steadying sip. 

Sunny frowned in thought. “Seven years ago...today actually.” 

Marianne blinked. “But Bog's still in the business?” 

Sunny shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah.” 

Marianne frowned in thought. She supposed it made sense. If he had nothing else, why leave? 

“Where can I find him?” Marianne asked softly looking over the top of her coffee cup at her sister and Sunny. 

Sunny frowned. “I don't think that's a good idea Marianne. He isn't the Bog you remember at all. He's cold, hard. There is no emotion there at all.” 

Marianne frowned then sighed. “Just tell me where to find him.” 

* 

Bog adjusted the gun holster under his arm before reaching over and tugging his overcoat off the coat rack in the corner, then slipped the coat on. The overcoat was tailored to his slim figure, black as everything else he wore. He grabbed the black pork-pie hat—with a diamond crown instead of the flat top like many other hats—off the top of the pole and plopped it low on his head before he headed out into the snow that had just begun to fall. He adjusted the dark grey scarf around his neck, brought the thick cloth up over his mouth and sharp nose. It was nearly eleven in the evening, though when he stepped outside there were still several people milling about doing last minute shopping or rushing home for stupid Christmas eve dinners. 

Bog muttered to himself in irritation. “Humbug.” 

He set off down the street at a brisk pace, the points of his shoes cutting through the building snow. Bog had his hands in his pockets, his head down and trusting the fact that people would run to get out of his way. He was making his way down the sidewalk toward his home, the remains of a crumbling old Victorian that had once been a beautiful home. Bog had the money to fix it up, but he didn't, not necessarily because he pinched pennies, but mostly because he didn't care and he preferred living in the crumbling remains. Maybe, a little voice whispered to him, he was punishing himself for all the wrong he did, the crimes he committed or helped commit. Maybe he hoped the deep chill of the house would eventually kill him; either way he liked the house just as it was, a crumbling, lifeless wreak, sorta like that man who lived there. 

He had just turned the corner, the house maybe another block away when he ran straight into someone. 

The person Bog hit fell back with the force of the impact, an impact which just barely caused Bog to miss a step. Snarling Bog yanked his scarf down, but the curse he was about to hiss died on his lips when he saw who it was he had just collided with—Marianne. 

She had landed on her rear in the snow. Bog had to curl his hands into fists to prevent himself from reaching for her, to give her a hand up. He watched her, kept his eyes cold and bit his tongue. 

Marianne climbed to her feet. “Damn it! You should watch where the hell...” Her words died on her lips when she saw Bog standing in front of her. 

He looked older, but only around the eyes and a little around the mouth; definitely thinner and there was a hardness in his blue eyes that Marianne had never seen before, a set to his lips that told her of a bitter man who was holding a lot of pain back. 

“Bog.” Marianne said his name softly then she followed that with a slight smile. “I like the goatee.” 

Bog narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. “What're you doing here?” 

His accent, which he usually worked to keep under control, came out more pronounced which only served to make him angrier. 

“I was looking for you actually. Sunny told me he thought you lived along this street and I was hoping to run into you.” Marianne continued to smile, softly and in what Bog was certain was meant to be a comforting manner. “It—it's been a while.” 

Bog inhaled the ice cold air sharply through his nostrils. “You're here to talk about Mr. Namid's debt he owes me? There is nothing to discuss.” 

“Look, you know he's married to my sister don't you.” Marianne didn't phrase it like a question because she knew he had to know. “You know what happened to them...can't you just...I don't know...give them a break?” 

Bog started to move past her. “Yer in no position to be asking fer favors.” 

Bog walked at a fast clip, clearly trying to get away from her, but Marianne turned and followed him, jogging along at his side looking like a bright spot next to the tall lean shadow. “Look, maybe I can pay their debt?” 

Bog stopped in his tracks and turned to glare at her. “And why would ye do that?” 

“Because I care about them! I love my sister and Sunny is family. That's what you do for your loved ones. You help them in times of trouble.” Marianne had come to a stop, almost stumbling past Bog when he halted suddenly. 

Bog's lip curled, his accent wrapped around the words drawing them out nastily. “Oh, is it now? I could have sworn that what you did was give them an ultimatum, tell them they were being weak and how you couldn't have anything to do with them if they were going to get mixed up with certain sorts of people. I thought what you did was abandon the ones you supposedly love. Oh...no,” he said acerbically, acid dripping from each word. “I'm sorry—that isn't love at all. Because there isn't such a thing as love. There never was...” Bog snarled. 

Marianne blinked back tears. She reached quickly without thought and slapped him across the face. Bog didn't react, he simply let her slap him. Bog's words had stung, but...he was right. She had abandoned him when she should have stayed, when he needed her the most. Sshe had left him to fend for himself knowing exactly what his father was like, what was being done to Bog, grooming him for the family business. Marianne looked down at the snowflakes sticking to her boots. 

Bog hissed through his teeth. “Feel better?” 

Then he turned and started to walk again. When she looked up, Bog was already quite a ways ahead when she took off after him again. 

“Bog! I was wrong! I'm sorry! I know that now...can't we...” 

Bog spun on her so quickly she lost her footing and fell onto her rear again in the accumulating snow. 

“NO! We can't! Sunny owes me money, due in the morning. I don't give a flying fuck if it's Christmas or the end of days and I doubly don't care what's wrong with his wife!” Bog spit the words at her. “I will have my money or I will make an example of him. No one crosses me. Not any more.” With that Bog turned back, walked a few more steps, then up the stairs to the old dilapidated Victorian, opened the door and slammed it, leaving Marianne in the snow. 

Marianne frowned and blinked quickly as tears stung the corners of her eyes. 

“Oh, Bog.” Marianne wrapped her arms around herself as she looked up at his house. Even now though...she still loved him, she had never stopped, but this man wasn't Bog, wasn't the man she had loved so deeply and left. As Marianne stared at the house Bog had disappeared into, she realized something. The house...it was the house she and Bog used to talk about when they were kids...the one they would always tease each other about buying one day and fixing it up when they were married...Bog owned the house now. 

Marianne covered her mouth with her hands, crystal-like tears falling down her cheeks. 

* 

Bog hurt. Everything, every inch of him hurt. His heart most of all. He slid out of his coat hanging it by the door, and tossed his hat onto the peg beside it. The chill on the house was enough that one would expect frost on the walls, but Bog simply walked through the darkened house, pulling his gun out as he did so, though the slam of the door would have alerted anyone who would be waiting for him. It had been a long time since there had been an attempt on his life, but he still walked through the house checking for intruders. He had the bullet wound scar through his shoulder to remind him to go through the routine every night. 

But the house was clear. 

Bog slid the gun back into its holster with a sigh after he had made sure the ancient house was clear. He then set about his evening routine. He stopped at the thermostat checking the temperature, but he didn't move to turn the heat up before he headed up the stairs to his room. 

* 

An hour later, Bog stood at the large house's small stove, the overhead light on showing a sad kitchen in need of repair with peeling wallpaper, ancient tiled floors and appliances that were at least a decade old. Bog was dressed in a pair of black pajama pants, black socks and a black t-shirt with an old robe that had been washed so many times it was difficult to determine the color, thrown over his shoulders while he stood cooking at the stove, his pistol on the counter within easy access. He was turning a spoon slowly in a pot where some potato-leek soup simmered. He was thinking about Marianne while he stirred the soup despite the fact that thoughts of her made his heart hurt even more accutely. She looked more beautiful than he remembered, with her soft brown eyes, her pixie-like hair...her mouth...Bog shook himself with a shudder. His feelings for her, feelings he had never quite gotten rid of, welled up in him hard and strong. He realized that he had never once stopped loving her despite everything. He missed her...his heart ached for her. 

“Stop it, Bog. You fool,” Bog muttered to himself angrily, wiping at tears that had sprung to the corner of his eyes. 

“No Bog, don't stop it.” A voice with a thick Scottish accent said behind him. 

Bog grabbed the weapon from the counter and spun around quickly, the gun raised at the ready, held in a pair of steady hands. All of this was done so smoothly that Bog looked like a dancer. Standing there smiling at him, at the end of his gun's barrel, was his father, Bothain. 

Bog's eyes widened in shock, the hands holding the weapon shook ever so slightly. Bog's voice caught in surprise and a little fear. “Father? But...bu...yer dead!” 

Bog's father was a tall, imposing man with hard blue eyes, his hair almost white with only a few strands of black still mixed among the snow. His long, lean face ended in a white goatee and mustache, and he was dressed in the fine black suit that Bog had buried him in. Except for the chains that wrapped around his father in a criss-cross along his chest and torso, he looked much the same as the day Bog had buried him. No, the thought briefly drifted through Bog's mind, no he didn't look exactly the same. There was a strange greyness of his father's figure, his colors looked faded, as if his father had been formed from fog. 

Bog's hand shook, staring, but his father smiled and reached over putting his hand on the gun and slowly lowered the barrel. “It's me son.” 

Bog trembled. “Why are you here? Am I dead?” 

His father smiled. “I'm here to save you boy. Save you from going down the same path as me, to save you from the fate that befell me after death.” 

Bog took a step back, confusion and doubt evident on his face. “What?” 

Bothain sighed. “Oh boy, I cannna say I'm sorry enough for what I've done to you. Your mother, God rest her soul...when she died, you were just a boy and I was full of pain. I took that out on you son...then all the years of hard, cold treatment. Oh, my dear boy, I can never hope for you to forgive me, but I am going to save you. That's why I'm here, to fix what I did, to get you off the path I put you on and to give you a chance at the life you should have had.” 

Bog frowned deeply confused. “Da?” 

“Bog, I'm here to save you. I wasn't a good father to you boy. I...if yer mother had lived...” His father looked pained before he continued. “Oh Bog, I did wrong by you. Yer mother would have...you were such a dear sweet child and I took that from you, turned you into this hard, unfeeling man which I know you ain't.” Bothain shook his head. “Bog, I'm here to help you.” 

Bog muttered now that he had calmed down. “I'd rather be left alone.” 

His father chuckled. “I know boy. I'm here to bring you salvation, to help you be the man you should have been instead of what I created.” His father smiled...a real genuine smile of affection that Bog never recalled seeing when he was growing up. His father continued, his voice full of hope. “ You are to be visited by three spirits, the first at midnight.” 

“Why?” Bog hissed. “You...yer...ain't real.” Bog started to turn away. 

Bothain laughed. “Oh my son, why don't you believe what's right in front of your eyes?” 

Bog turned back to the spirit with a snarl. “Because...well anything can fuck them up. I could have eaten something that's giving me the collywobbles. Mam use to say not eating would do the same thing,” Bog muttered setting his gun on the counter again and going back to stirring his soup. “There's more gravy than grave about you,” he concluded. 

His father sighed. “You were always just as stubborn as me boy.” 

Bog didn't turn around, but he snarled. "Gaun jus’ bugger aff wid ye!" 

Bog's father hissed in such a frightful matter that Bog turned to see his father glowering at him, rising off the floor and shaking his chains as he wailed. For a moment Bog's mind rushed back to all the times Bothain had slapped him across the face for saying something stupid or for snapping back. The tone of his father's voice was the same that he used to use just before he would threaten to beat Bog about the ears when he was smaller. “YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME BOY!!” 

Bog's eyes widened. He pressed back against the counter with a whispered, “Yes sir.” 

His father sighed. “God damn it boy. I'm trying my best here. As I was saying, I'm here to save you. Yer going to be visited by three ghosts, the first at midnight, then one, then the last will come when it feels like it.” 

“That's the chance of redemption you spoke about?” Bog asked. 

His father nodded. “Aye, it is.” 

“I'd rather not,” Bog said petulantly. 

Brohain growled. “Boy!” 

“Canna just have them all at once and be done with it?” Bog muttered. 

Bog's father stared at him for a long moment before he laughed. “You always had a mouth on you despite everything. I always admired that about you Bog. Never quite cowered enough not to get a sharp word in on yer old Da.” 

The ghost of his father stepped back toward the door, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The first will be here at the stroke of midnight. Listen to them son. I want you to have the life you should have had, to have the life you still could have...Remember Bog, my boy, I wasn't good at it, but I did love you...” 

And with that, the image of Bog's father was gone. 

Bog stood there pressed up against the stove staring at the space his father's spirit had occupied only moments before. After a few deep steadying breaths, Bog slowly exhaled before he turned back around and muttered to himself. 

“Humbug.” 

* 

It was creeping close to midnight by the time Bog made his way up the creaky stairs to his bedroom. The bedroom, like the rest of the place, was in need of repair, but this was the only room in which Bog had made a little effort to make the room more personal. 

The only “modern” piece of furniture in the room was the bed, a small sad twin bed that couldn't have been comfortable for a man of Bog's height, but he didn't seem to notice the discomfort. The bed had a plain comforter, thin, the color a dull grey with a few pillows. Next to the bed, on the right side was a winged-back chair of faded red tapestry. On the other side of the bed was a black, faded wooden night stand with a small sad lamp covered by a yellowed lampshade. The walls were a water-stained yellow with only one piece of decoration on the wall, an old clock. The clock had belonged to his mother; it was a lovely old piece with a Gothic architectural look and a large pendulum behind a glass door that ticked heavily back and forth. Bog remembered how much he loved the clock as a child, watching the heavy pendulum tick the minutes away. His mother had told him once that the clock was a wedding gift that had been passed down through her family. Her mother had given it to her, her mother to her and so on. His mother had told him he could give it to his wife someday, but she hadn't lived to see him grown and now...Bog would die alone, never married, never loved he thought. His mam would be so disappointed, though if she had lived who knew what his life would have been like? 

He walked into the frigid room shuffling over to the nightstand where he picked up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter; another thing his mother would have been upset about, that he had taken up smoking like his father. He frowned for a moment, holding the lighter, examining the shiny object. It was a flip-top lighter with a thistle engraved on it. Bog remembered his father, before his mother's death, when they had been a family, showing Bog how to use the lighter, Bog on his Da's lap, flipping the lid and flicking the spark wheel until a flame appeared. Bog rubbed his thumb over the thistle thinking of the ghost...that...No. He hadn't seen anything. There were no ghosts. His father hadn't come here to visit him...to try and change him...it had all been a hallucination. 

Bog pulled out a cigarette from the pack, settling it between his lips. Bog flipped the lid on the lighter, then without another thought to ghosts, ran his thumb over the spark wheel. The flame sprang to life. He held the flame to his cigarette just as the clock on the wall chimed the hour, midnight. Bog snorted, took a deep drag on his cigarette, and turned around just as a bright glow seemed to slowly bloom behind him. 

Bog didn't notice the glow until he had fully turned, his blue eyes going as wide as saucers as the cigarette dropped from his mouth and fell to the floor. 

Standing there, smiling at him, bathed in a halo of light was Bog's mother, Griselda. 

She smiled. “Hello little bug.” 

“M...Mam?” Bog's voice trembled. 

“Yes little bug, it's me, but I'm also here to represent the ghost of Christmas past.” Griselda smiled. “But mostly I'm here as your mother.” She held her arms out to him. Bog dropped the lighter as well and threw himself into his mother's embrace immediately, dropping to his knees to lay his head on her shoulder. He was surrounded by the smells from his childhood, vanilla, lavender and the scent of baking bread that he always associated with her. Bog immediately teared up. 

Griselda squeezed him once, then reluctantly pushed her son back, holding his shoulders as she gazed at him. Bog smiled, looking younger. “Are...are you the ghost Da told me about?” 

She nodded giving him a soft smile. “Aye my boy, I am.” 

“What past are you going to show me? Long past?” Bog asked confused. 

“No my little bug, your past.” His mother reached out and stroked her son's hair back from his narrow face. “I'm to show you what happened to bring you to this point my little bug.” 

Bog pressed his lips together, his eyes tearing up, but he nodded and blinked quickly to work the tears away. 

His mother smiled softly. “Now, stand up and take my hand Bog.” 

Bog did as his mother requested. She glanced up at her son lovingly, then she took step forward taking her son with her. Bog smiled in return walking trustingly with his mother and just like that, the two of them had simply stepped into someplace else. 

Bog frowned looking around in shock. “I...I remember this place.” 

His mother smiled softly holding her son's hand tightly. 

They were back in Scotland. The sky was a stormy grey and there was a little thatched cottage right in front of them. In the window were the dancing lights of their modest Christmas tree. Sitting on the ground, on a patch of flat frozen dirt, dressed in jeans and a thick grey sweater, playing with some marbles, was Bog. He was a tall, skinny boy with thick black hair that refused to stay out of his eyes and a nose that he had yet to grow into. He could see his mother standing by the clothing line, hanging up some sheets, wearing a pair of jeans and a blue and white plaid shirt with a colorful red and green sweater over the top of that. Her frizzle red hair was up in a messy bun on the top of her head, wooden clothes pins jutting from her mouth. Next to her stood Bog's father. His father was dressed in what his mother always called his Sunday best, a black pinstriped suit with a blood red tie, a hand on his head holding down the fedora he wore as the breeze picked up, threatening to blow the hat away. The gusts of wind were mixed with flakes of snow. Bog could hear his parents arguing. 

“But love, there are opportunities for a man in the Americas that ain't available here!” Bog's father groaned. 

Yanking the clothes pins from her mouth and tossing them into the basket, his wife turned on him. “You mean there are more criminal activities. I know yer father wants you to go to extend his reach,” Griselda muttered. “And you know how I feel about that.” 

“And what's wrong with that? I could get you a big house, send that boy of ours to a real school.” Bothain threw his hands in the air forgetting about his hat which the wind immediately grabbed. Bothain cursed watching the hat go before he continued. “The boy could really be something Griselda! I don't want him wasting away in some backwater Scottish village!” 

Griselda sighed, turning to face her husband “We'll be leaving everything Bothain...Bog won't have his friends or family...just us.” 

Bothain took Griselda into his arms. “It'll be great my love. I promise.” Bothain held his wife and kissed the top of her head. 

Bog frowned watching them. “You died two years later Mam. You left me alone with Da in a strange country with no friends...only Da. He fell apart when you left us.” 

Griselda squeezed her son's hands. “I know darling. I'm sorry.” 

Bog's mother tugged gently on his hand, turning Bog around. “Let's see another Christmas.” 

Bog turned from the scene to another. Bog frowned and said slowly, “I remember this.” 

She nodded. “It was last day of school, right before Christmas break...” 

* 

“Hey freak!” someone yelled. 

Bog, even tall now, taller than most everyone around him, including many adults, was standing by himself leaning against the wall waiting for his father to pick him up from school. He was old enough to drive, he even had the smattering of facial hair, but his Da insisted on picking him up and taking him to his job, running errands, deliveries for his Da's boss. 

Bog wore a pair of jeans and an oversize sweater that hung on his thin frame. Bog was in the 12th grade, but he still had the slight accent to his voice, that no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to fully let go, even later in his life. Dragging his attention from his book, Bog glanced up, a rebellious lock of black hair falling across his brow. 

Bog frowned at the other kid whose name was Roland. Roland was tall as well, though not anywhere near as tall as Bog, with green eyes and that typical handsome American male face that all the girls loved, with blonde wavy hair and a smile full of perfect straight white teeth, quite unlike Bog's crooked ones. 

“Say something again in that stupid voice of yours!” Roland yelled, his group of hangers-ons all giggling. 

Bog frowned, clearly wanting to be left alone, but Roland kept pestering. “Come on Boggy Woggy! Say something! I know, you won't talk cause you're upset. Didn't get an invite to Marianne's party did you? That's cause nobody wants you around, yeah skinny cockroach! And you like her don't you? Well Marianne is my girlfriend, so there!” Roland and his little gang of cronies all started to laugh. Bog's cheeks turned bright red. He pressed his lips together on his temper. His mother had always told him not to fight...but his Da...Da would be angry that Bog hadn't gone over there and decked Roland across the face. Bog was hoping they would simply go away when another voice joined in. 

“Roland if you don't shut up I'm going to deck you one! And I'm NOT your girlfriend!” 

Bog turned to see Marianne. Despite her diminutive size, Marianne filled a space with her presence. She came marching outside and up to Bog. She smiled at him. “Hey, ah...I actually do have an invitation for you. I...I just wanted to give it to you myself.” Marianne smiled up at Bog, her cheeks rosy. She was wearing a soft pink sweater with leggings and boots, her short brown hair was flipping rebelliously everywhere, but it only enhanced how cute she was to Bog's mind. Bog blinked in surprise, her warm brown eyes making it impossible for him to speak. She pulled the envelope out from between the pages of the book she carried and handed it to him. 

“I really hope you can come,” Marianne said sweetly. 

“Ah...aye...I mean...yes, yes Marianne—I would love to come,” Bog mumbled. 

Marianne smiled and hopped up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Good. I can't wait to see you there.” 

Bog touched his cheek, stunned watching Marianne walk away, giving Roland the middle finger as she walked past him. Roland stared after her in shock. 

Griselda chuckled. “I like that girl. Now...let's see a Christmas that you really enjoyed.” 

* 

When his mother pulled on his hand and forced Bog to turn again, he was standing in a hallway, a Christmas party going on behind him. He was clean shaven, wearing black slacks with a matching vest and a deep red button down shirt without a tie, the top few buttons opened, his dark hair slicked back except for the one rebellious lock that curled around his brow. Music was playing accompanied by the sounds of laughter and talking. Bog was smiling, but he had slipped away to take a phone call from his father. “Da, I promise, I'll get the job done. Yes...yes I understand...okay...give me a couple of hours? Thanks Da.” Bog hung up, slipping the phone into his back pocket just as he felt someone slip up behind him and then suddenly a small sprig of mistletoe was dancing in front of his face. 

“Do you know what mistletoe means?” a sweet voice asked. 

Bog chuckled. “Nope. Not a clue. You might just have to tell me tough girl.” 

Marianne came around from behind Bog giggling. She looked lovely he thought, wearing a pair of black leggings, knee-high black boots and a purple sweater that was snug in all the right places. “It means that you, Mr. Bog King have to kiss me.” 

“I do?” Bog made a face. “I don't know Marianne...kiss you...that's a tough call.” 

Marianne made a mock angry face at him. “Bog King, if you don't kiss me...!!” 

She didn't get to finish her sentence before Bog had scooped her up into his arms, lifting her off her feet at the same time that he turned and pressed her up against the wall, his mouth coming down on hers in a passionate, spine tickling kiss that had Marianne sagging in his arms. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, then her legs around his waist, returning his kiss with equal passion. Bog caught her bottom lip in his teeth, his blue eyes dancing when he opened them. Marianne made a soft growl. “Mm...Mr. King...” 

Bog chuckled releasing her lip with a lick of his tongue. “Marianne...I...I...”Bog leaned his forehead against hers, staring into her warm brown eyes. “I...this isn't how—but...” He took a breath and said simply, “Would you consider marrying me?” 

Marianne caressed the back of his neck with one hand, the fingers of her other hand caressed his hair. She went still. “What?” 

Bog slowly lowered her to her feet, then dropped down on one knee. He fumbled with the ring that he had in the pocket of his vest. The ring was an assher shaped diamond in a white gold setting with little diamonds running along the sides. 

Bog held the ring in trembling fingers, his blue eyes looked up into hers full of love and hopefulness. “Will you marry me?” 

Marianne trembled too, tears blossoming in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. “Oh yes Bog, yes.” 

He reached up and took her hand, gently sliding the ring onto her finger. He barely had time to get to his feet before Marianne had thrown herself into his arms. 

“Oh Bog!!” Marianne buried her face against his neck. 

Grinning ear to ear Bog whispered, holding her tight. “I love you Marianne. I love you for now and always.” 

Marianne grabbed his face between her hands and covered him in kisses. 

“Let's go show Dawn and Sunny!!” She giggled happily. 

Bog laughed, kissing her gently. “Let's go.” 

* 

Bog's mother looked up at him. Her son was staring at Marianne, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. The deep love the boy still held for Marianne was clear in his eyes. Griselda hated what she had to do, but she squeezed her son's hand. “Let me show you another Christmas.” 

Bog turned to see himself standing outside, flakes of snow beginning to drift around him, a cigarette hanging from his lips. There were Christmas lights on the buildings outside, just beginning to come to life as evening settled around him. He reached up and patted the gun under his arm for reassurance when he saw Marianne come jogging across the street. 

Bog, watching all of this, stared in horror. He remembered this Christmas. “Mam, I don't want to see this.” 

“Oh Bog my son, you must,” his mother replied sadly. 

Bog stared at himself standing on the street corner. 

* 

“Shit,” Bog muttered tossing the cigarette to the concrete, putting it out with the toe of his boot, then rubbing his face in annoyance. 

“Bog!” Marianne hurried over to him, looking both ways before she dashed across the street. 

“Marianne, what are you doing here?” Bog snarled. 

“I'm here to stop you. You don't have to work for your father anymore. I talked to my Dad; he says he'll hire you.” Marianne smiled reaching up to grab the front lapels of his coat and tug him down for a kiss. 

Bog let her, feeling the warmth of her mouth against his own, melting some of the ice that had started to form around his heart, but he quickly grabbed her upper arms holding her back. “Marianne, you can't be here.” 

“Bog, did you hear what I said? You can quit working for your Dad. You can do something honest.” Marianne smiled, but Bog wasn't listening, his eyes looking down the street. 

“Marianne you need to leave now. It's not safe for you to be here while I'm on a job. You know that.” 

“ Bog...” Marianne pleaded, but Bog turned on her with a snarl. “I ain't going to work for your father! I can't and you know it!” 

Marianne took a step back from him, her eyes round with shock. “You want to be criminal?? What is wrong with you?” 

“It ain't that easy to just walk away! I canna do that to my Da anyway, Marianne...it's not that easy.” Bog growled, but his voice had started to drop, a soft groan of a man trapped and seeing no way out laced with the tone of his words, but Marianne didn't pick up on it. 

“If you loved me, you would quit,” Marianne hissed at him, her eyes narrowed. 

“What? I do love you, but one has nothing to do with the other,” Bog snarled back. “This is my Da Marianne, I canna just leave him...it just...it just doesn't work like that.” 

Marianne frowned, glaring at him. “Yes it does! “ 

Bog was about to reply when he saw the man he was supposed to rough up. A nasty, evil man who had broken one of the “family” laws. All Bog could think of was that he needed to get Marianne out of harm's way. If everything went as it should, this would be easy, but if not...Marianne could easily get hurt. 

Bog grabbed Marianne and shoved her behind him. “Go home. Now.” 

Marianne stumbled when Bog threw her behind him. She watched in shock as he stalked off across the street. 

* 

Watching all this Bog yelled. “NO! Go with her!! Damn it, go with her!” 

Griselda stroked her son's arm. “Honey, they can't hear you. The past is only shadows...we can neither be seen nor heard.” 

Bog started to silently cry, tears rolling down his cheeks. He whispered, his voice choked. “Marianne.” 

* 

Marianne was trembling watching Bog walk away, tears of both sorrow and anger spilling from her eyes. “Fine Bog. I see how it is.” 

* 

When Bog and Griselda appeared again, they were standing in a dark and cold apartment. Bog wiped angrily at his eyes. “Mam...please don't do this...” 

“Bog...I'm sorry.” His mother wrapped her arms around her son. Bog buried his face against her neck just as the door to the silent apartment opened. 

* 

When Bog returned to the apartment he shared with Marianne later that night, he found the place nearly empty; everything that had been Marianne's was gone. Lying on the kitchen table was her engagement ring with a note that read. 

“Be happy in the life that you have chosen.” 

Bog just stood there staring at the ring in his cold fingers. 

* 

Bog groaned in pain. “Go get her Bog, you fool!! Go after her!!” 

But the younger Bog just dropped the ring from life-less fingers, and like a zombie, the life had drained from him. 

Bog watched his younger self walk away, tears streaming down his cheeks. Standing next to his mother's ghost, he whispered in a voice choked with pain. “Go after her...please.” 

Griselda took her son's hand. Bog groaned softly. “Take me back. I can't take anymore Mam. Please...I'm begging you Mam.” 

She tugged her son down to her until Bog dropped down on his knees and wrapped his arms around his mother, sobbing into her shoulder. 

Griselda whispered softly. “Oh Bog, you cared so much.” 

“No. That's when I stopped caring...stopped caring about everything.” Bog's voice dropped to a sad empty whisper. 

* 

When Bog sat back on his heels, his mother was gone. Bog wiped his eyes with the heels of his hand looking around the empty room, then angrily climbed to his feet and blinked rapidly. “Stupid dreams.” 

He found his lighter on the floor, then walked over to the table where he had left the pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out with shaking hands, shoved it between his lips. He flicked the lighter on. It took him three times to light the cigarette, his hands were shaking so badly, when he heard a laugh. It wasn't just a laugh, it was a full belly laugh full of happiness. 

Bog spun on his heel turning to see someone else he knew...sitting on a throne that appeared to be made of food, fruits, nuts, breads and cakes surrounded by candles and jugs of drink. Bog stared, his mouth dropping open, losing yet another cigarette. 

Bog's voice came out in a shocked whisper. “Brutus? Uncle Brutus?” 

The large man that sat among the mounds of food was tall and larger than life, with a mane of frizzy red hair and a matching beard. He wore a robe of Christmas green and a wreath of holly leaves and berries around his head. 

“Aye Bog, it's me!! Yer old Uncle Brutus!! Come in and know me better man!! Get yerself over here and give yer Uncle a hug ya Skinny Malinky!!” The big man rose up, for a moment it seemed to Bog as if his uncle filled the entire room. Bog stepped over and was yanked into a hug that threatened to squeeze the breath right from his lungs. Bog's uncle had died eleven years before his father. He was his mother's brother and Bog remembered the man as a huge and cheerful presence in his young life. Bog would never forget how happy he was when Brutus showed up, arriving from Scotland to live with them for a short time, but like with his mother, when his uncle died, Brutus took some of the light out of Bog's life. 

His uncle held him close then held him out at arms length. 

Bog smiled that same little boy crooked smile he always gave his uncle. “Are...are you a ghost like my Mam?” 

Brutus laughed. “Aye Bog. I'm the ghost of Christmas present, well, at least your present. I'm to show you what you miss my boy, by keeping yerself so cold and aloof, by shutting off your heart.” 

Bog frowned looking down, but his uncle lifted Bog's chin. “Come now boy, let's get started. My time is short.” 

His uncle wrapped his arm around Bog's shoulders and stepped forward. Bog found himself in a small living room. The lights were dim, a tiny Christmas tree with colorful lights twinkled merrily in the corner. The light sounds of Christmas music played in the background. A yule log burned in a fireplace on the small TV and sitting on a couch curled in each others arms were Dawn and Sunny each holding a steam cup of cocoa loaded with marshmallows. Marianne sat in a chair nearby staring at the fake fire, her own mug still full in her hands. 

“Marianne, are you all right?” Dawn asked in a soft voice. 

Marianne stirred herself to gaze at her sister, her brown eyes brimming with tears. “You should have seen him Dawn...it...he wasn't the Bog I knew at all. He was so cold. Did I do that to him?” 

“You can't blame yourself. Bog made a choice, didn't he?” Dawn asked gently. 

Marianne dropped her head, staring into the warmth of her mug, her eyes sad. “I wonder Dawn. I gave up on him too quickly. I didn't...I didn't want to leave him. I should have stayed. Maybe if I had stayed I could have convinced him...helped him...instead I ran off...didn't even say good-bye.” 

Dawn frowned sharing a glance with Sunny. “You know Marianne, if you still love him, it's never too late.” 

“No Dawn, maybe it is...maybe sometimes it is.” Marianne whispered softly. 

Dawn untangled herself from Sunny and walked over to her sister. She limped a little which made Marianne's heart ache to see her little sister, who had been so full of energy, struggle to walk across room. She jumped up, coming over to hug her little sister. “What are you doing?” 

Dawn smiled. “I'm giving my big sister a hug and telling her to go out and get that man. It's never too late for true love.” 

Marianne laughed. She reached down and patted her sister's stomach, which was when Bog noticed the slight roundness to her belly...Dawn was pregnant. 

Bog said softly. “That's why he wanted the money.” 

“Aye. After the accident, things looked bad for those two, but that baby is a new beginning for them. Sunny wanted that money not just to give her a lovely Christmas, but to buy a flippin' crib.” Brutus slugged Bog in the shoulder. “Yeah, Bampot.” 

“Yowch!” Bog grabbed his shoulder. He watched Marianne for a long time before he spoke again. 

Bog turned to his uncle. “She...she still loves me?” 

“I'm surprised too.” His uncle laughed. “Makes me wonder if my skinny malinky longlegs of a nephew is up for changing his ways for a pretty lady or if'n he's too stubborn?” 

Bog frowned. “I...I don't know.” 

His uncle sighed. “Bog, dinnea make me give ye a skelpit lug!” 

Bog pressed his lips together on a chuckle, but nodded while his uncle continued. “That there girl thinks you still have good in ya and she thinks you be worth saving, dinnea ye dare waste that boy. The ghost after me is gunna show what will happen if you continue down the road yer on. But for now I have another Christmas to show you.” Bog, who was staring longingly at Marianne wasn't prepared when his uncle grabbed him around the shoulders and spun him around, which nearly caused the tall, thin man, to topple over. When he straightened, Bog found himself gazing into another room. This room was lit merrily with a small, but lovely Christmas tree in a corner, Christmas decorations were everywhere to the point of gaudiness. Bog and his uncle were standing in a dining room where a long dinner table was piled with food, a small turkey dominated the center, surrounded by a variety of plastic covered dishes looking like a potluck dinner rather than a Christmas dinner. Sitting around the table were Thang, Stuff, some other members of Bog's “gang” as well as several children, none of whom Bog recognized, one of which was a tiny little boy of no more than six or seven. The little sandy-haired boy was sitting on Stuff's lap. Bog could see that he was a small child, pale, but what really struck Bog was how much the small little thing resembled Thang. The little boy had a wide gapped tooth smile and bright brown eyes. He was really adorable Bog thought, a sweet looking little boy. 

Bog turned to his uncle. “They have a kid? All my gang have...kids? I...I didn't know.” 

“You never asked Bog.” His uncle gave Bog a sad look. 

Bog frowned, his gaze wandering over the happy group then asked softly, his eyes on the little boy on Stuff's lap who seemed to only react when he saw someone's expression. “He looks...is something wrong with him?” 

“Aye, the little mite is deaf. He needs a new hearing aid and his parents want to send him to a special school for the deaf. They want him to have other children like himself to play with as well as the gangs children, to learn sign language, Braille, but Thang and Stuff canna afford it,” Bog's uncle said sadly. 

“They can't?” Bog gazed at the happy child who was looking up at his mother with adoring eyes. 

“Ya don't pay them enough boy.” His uncle smacked Bog on the back of the head. 

“Ouch!” Bog yelped flinching. 

At that moment, Thang stood up. The little man, his glasses on the tip of his nose, wore a bright red and green sweater that only now Bog noticed, matched the sweater the little boy was wearing, and tapped his spoon against a glass that looked to contain eggnog. “Okay everyone!!! I want to make a toast!” 

Everyone quieted down, the little boy watching everyone's expression intently. Thang grinned happily. “First, I'm so happy ya'll came!!” 

Everyone cheered. Stuff wrapped her arms around her son and clapped. The little boy enthusiastically clapped too, grinning the whole while. 

Thang grinned, winking at his son. “First I would like to propose a toast to Bog King, the founder of our feast.” 

Everyone fell quiet. Thang sighed. “Oh, come on guys. Bog isn't that bad.” 

Stuff muttered. “No...that's true, he could be a lot worse, but he's...cold Thang sweetie. He doesn't pay you, doesn't pay any of us what we're worth and he...he has a stone heart sweetheart. I don't know why you invite him every year.” 

Thang's smile didn't waver. “'Cause I like Bog! I like him a lot! I truly believe there is a super nice man in there—I just have to keep working to find him!” 

Stuff just shook her head in response while the rest of the gang shrugged and exchanged glances. 

Thang continued. “The only person he hurts by not coming to dinner with us is himself. I think that he loses some pleasant moments, which could do him no harm. I am sure he loses pleasanter companions than he can find in his own thoughts and I think he is sad and lonely. You ever see the way he looks when he thinks no one is watching? One year he is going to accept. I just know it! So I'm going to keep inviting him until he gives in and eats with us!” 

Stuff sighed brushing her fingers through her son's hair. “Thang, you are just too sweet my darling.” 

Thang blushed then held his glass up. “To Bog King!” 

Everyone raised their glasses. “To Bog King.” 

After everyone had swallowed their drinks Thang laughed. “Now let's eat, dance and be stupid!!” 

The entire room laughed. Thang came over and scooped up his son. “Come my little Tim!! You have to dance with your father!” 

* 

Bog blushed, smiling as he watched the party, everyone enjoying themselves, while his uncle chuckled. “They love you despite you being a little dobber Bog.” His uncle started to take a whack at the back of Bog's head, but the taller man ducked the swipe this time. 

Bog gave his beloved uncle a grin which made his uncle laugh. 

Bog sighed and asked softly. “Will their son be all right?” 

His uncle shook his head. “I see that young man closing himself off more and more from the world without help...becoming isolated.” 

Bog frowned watching the little boy. 

The room where Thang and the others were celebrating faded away to find them back in a dark cold alley. His uncle took hold of Bog's shoulders squeezing them with affection. 

“Bog...I have to leave ya now boy.” His uncle yanked Bog against him, nearly knocking Bog off his feet as he held his nephew in a tight embrace. 

“This next ghost is a dark shadow my boy.” His uncle held him close then pushed Bog back. “He won't be anyone you know...he's the future...the ghost of Christmas yet to come. Listen to him,” Brutus said gravely. 

“Will I ever see you again?” Bog asked softly. 

His uncle smiled. “You learn the lessons yer given tonight boy, then your Mam, Da and I...we will always be with you.” 

Bog grabbed his uncle in another hug, his voice a whispered. “I love you uncle.” 

“I love you too boy. Now go.” 

* 

Bog stepped back to find himself alone in the dark alley. It was cold as an icy winter breeze blew through the dank and dirty alley. Bog turned around to see a black shadow hovering just at the edge of the alley's mouth. The shadow was roughly human in shape. 

Bog frowned. “Yer the ghost of Christmas yet to come?” 

The shadow's head dipped in what Bog took to be a nod. 

Bog wrapped his arms around himself. “Yer about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us if things don't change?” 

The shadow nodded again. 

Bog nervously muttered. “I fear you. But since I know you are here to help me, show me what I need to see.” 

The shadow nodded and motioned for Bog to look without speaking a word. Bog stepped out of the alley. Bog frowned looking along the street, his eyes widening when he saw himself. He was dressed as he usually was in winter, in total black; black coat, his black hat low on his head, hands stuffed into his pockets, hurrying down the street when someone yelled. 

“Bog KING!” 

Bog watched his future self turn just as the man who had yelled at him opened fire. Four bullets hit Bog square in the chest, one right after the other. He dropped to the sidewalk. The man who had shot him turned and ran, disappearing into the gathering snow. 

Bog watched in horror as a pool of bright red blood began to form under his body. The other Bog was gasping for breath, a trail of blood running from his lips down the side of his face. Bog stared at his other self, watching him grasp at nothing, his breath coming in bloody bubbles from his lips...Bog watched as he died alone on the street, on a cold Christmas eve night. 

Bog turned to the ghostly shadow, shaken by what he saw. “These are the things that might be right? These events are not set in stone? I can change them right? Right? I can change them if I change my life?” 

The shadow said nothing. 

Bog stared at his dead body, speaking softly. “Show me some tenderness spirit. Show me something...” 

When Bog looked up again, he was in the home of Dawn and Sunny. There was a Christmas tree in the corner and the lights were dim allowing the merry lights of the tree to dance over the people in the room. Marianne was there again, but there was no light in her eyes, she seemed...dead, her eyes flat with the lack of emotion. 

Dawn was nursing a baby while she spoke to her sister. 

“Marianne...Roland? Are you sure you really want to marry him?” 

Marianne shook her head. “No...but yes. He...marrying him will help all of us.” 

“But Marianne....you don't love him and I don't think he loves you. He just wants you for a trophy wife. He just wants you because you turned him down all those years ago.” Dawn frowned, but Marianne shook her head. “By marrying Roland I ensure that you and Sunny are taken care of, that little April is taken care of...” 

Sunny leaned back against the wall. “Marianne...I...” 

“Sunny, it's not your fault that you were laid off. I am not going to have my family on the streets, especially if I can do something so simple to save us all. If marrying Roland is what I have to do...then that is what I'm going to do. Look, everyone gets what they want. Roland gets me, which is something he always wanted. I get to help you guys, and you guys get to keep your house and give little April a home. Everyone wins.” 

Dawn blinked back tears as did Sunny. Dawn looked up at her sister. “Oh Marianne.” 

Marianne wiped away her tears smiling. “It won't be so bad Dawn. It's not like I was ever going to find love again. With Bog gone, that dream died too.” 

* 

Bog's lips trembled. “Marianne,” he said her name softly. 

He turned to look at the ghost. “It's my fault isn't it?” 

The ghost said nothing—it only pointed. 

Bog turned to look in the direction that the spirit indicated to see that he was now in the home of Thang and Stuff. It was decorated for Christmas, but there was no one there except Thang and Stuff. Stuff was crying, Thang holding her tightly. 

Bog looked to the spirit. “What happened?” 

The spirit simply pointed. Thang murmured. “I'm so sorry my love, it's my fault.” 

“No, no, Thang...it's no one's fault...if Tim...if...” Stuff started to sob again. 

Thang tightened his hold on her. “He...he just didn't hear the car. Those substandard hearing aids hadn't...” He sniffled. 

The scene faded. 

Bog turned to the spirit. “Tim? Their little boy is dead? But...but...no...please!! Please tell me I can change this!! What's the point of showing me all this if I canna change anything? I...I'll change!! I will spirit, I'll change. I'll keep Christmas!! Why show me this if I'm past all hope, if I canna change nothing? Tell me I can change these shadows with an altered life!” 

The spirit simply stared back, a dark pitiless shadow. 

Bog pleaded. “Please let me change, give me a chance.” 

The spirit suddenly surged forward slamming into Bog's chest. The spirit's touch was like ice, burning through his heart, freezing his very blood. Bog gasped, his breath coming out in a frozen and misty breath, then he was falling, falling into darkness. Bog gasped, reached up, trying to find purchase, but darkness simply formed around him and swallowed him. 

* 

Bog gasped and shivered. He was lying on his back on his bedroom floor staring up at the ceiling. For a moment he just laid there trying to figure out where he was, then in the next moment he was on his feet. Bog chuckled, then giggled touching his chest and face. “I'm alive? I'm alive!” 

He rushed from the room and down the stairs, hurrying to the television. He grabbed the remote and flipped on the switch to be greeted by a local morning news program. “And we are expecting more snow this frosty Christmas morning...” 

Bog grinned brighter. “I haven't missed it.” 

He stood there for a moment smiling, but looking unsure of what to do next. Then with a laugh, he dashed off to his room to shower and dress. 

* 

Bog came racing down the stairs in one of his black suits, minus a tie since he simply couldn't be bothered with it, and instead of his hair slicked back, he had simply towel dried his mop of hair and let the mess of it curl any which way it chose. He was in too much of a hurry to worry about his hair, or a tie or his hat. He barely grabbed his coat before he was out the door. 

He burst out the door of his house and yelled at the top of his lungs. “MERRY CHRISTMAS!!” 

A few people who happened to be outside, either piling into cars or walking dogs. all smiled and laughed, waving and calling “Merry Christmas” in return...though a few of his neighbors gave him odd looks. 

Bog took off at a run down the street, going straight to the local Starbucks that he knew would be open. 

* 

When Bog arrived, covered in snow, he was surprised at how many people were actually in the shop on Christmas day. Bog stood there for a moment then grinned yelling. “Everyone's coffee is on me!! Merry Christmas!” 

The place was silent for a few seconds before someone stood up and started to clap their hands. Bog blushed as more people started to clap. An older lady came up to Bog, surprising him when she wrapped her arms around him in a hug. “That's the sweetest gesture young man. Thank you.” 

Bog stood there, his arms in the air looking down with a shocked expression bfore he eased his arms down and returned her embrace. 

Bog smiled warmly. It felt good to be hugged and hug someone in return. The older woman released him and patted his cheek. “Such a nice young man.” 

Bog grinned from ear to ear. 

* 

Soon he was on his way out of the shop, people inside were calling after him wishing him a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and yelling thank you. Bog turned in the door, his orders of coffee in two drink carriers, and a large sack full of pastries under his arm. He laughed, yelling back. “Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays!!” 

He hurried down the street back to his place wondering for a moment why he didn't just drive down here in the first place, but he simply laughed and hurried home. 

* 

Thang was finishing up lighting the candles around the dining room. Tim was following behind his father dressed in a little green and red Christmas sweater with a happy dancing tree on it, just like the one his father wore. Stuff called from the kitchen. 

“Baby? Can you get come carry this platter of cookies for me into the dining room?” 

Thang called back. “Be right there my sugarplum!” Then he grinned down at Tim. He carefully said the word slowly. “Cookies!” 

Tim watched his father's mouth intently then grinned. Thang laughed scooping up his son when there was a knock at the door. Thang frowned. “Whoever it is, they're early.” Carrying Tim on his hip, Thang made his way to the front door. He opened up with a “Merry Christmas...” then stopped short when he saw Bog standing there holding trays of coffee with a large bag under his arm. Bog smiled hesitantly, looking unsure of himself. 

“Um...if...if your invitation is still available I thought...maybe...” 

“SIR!!” Thang happily yelled and wrapped an arm around Bog yanking him inside while holding his son on his hip with his other hand. The little boy didn't know what was going on, but Daddy seemed to love this strange new man, so Timmy loved him too. The little boy wrapped his arm around Bog's neck leaning in and giving the new friend a big wet kiss on the cheek. Bog blushed, but he was grinning ear to ear as he muttered, “Call me Bog, please.” 

Stuff came running out of the kitchen wearing an apron decorated with numerous skulls, her hands covered in dough, her mohawk a bright green and red. “Thang what's...” 

She stopped dead when she saw Bog. “Sir?” 

Thang beamed. “He came to have dinner with us!!!” 

Bog smiled gently. “If you'll have me and please, just call me Bog, not sir.” 

Thang grinned. “Of course we will! Right, Stuff?” 

Stuff stared then nodded slowly. “Ah...yeah.” 

Thang giggled taking the coffee from Bog after putting Tim down. Tim looked up at Bog, his eyes wide and his little mouth open. Bog smiled down at the little boy before dropping down to his knees. He smiled again setting the bag down and pointed at himself. 

He said his name slowly so the little boy could watch his mouth. “Bog.” 

Stuff watched Bog with her brow quirked. “What are you doing?” 

Bog looked up. “I was saying my name slowly so he could read my lips.” 

Stuff looked confused. “How did you know he was deaf?” 

Bog frowned then shrugged. “Just...ah...knew.” 

Tim smiled and thew his arms around Bog's neck. Bog looked at Stuff confused, but she smiled. “He likes you. Why don't you come on into the kitchen. Would you like to help cook?” 

Bog grinned. “Yes, yes I would.” 

* 

Bog had a delightful evening with his “gang” and their families. They had all welcomed him with open arms. Bog had sworn that things were going to be different from here on out, first by taking care of each and every one of them, especially little Tim. Bog would start his own little program to send all of their children to college when the time came, so that none of them would fall into the same life of crime that he and the others had. 

After dinner Bog had taken Thang aside. “I want you to go cancel all my debts. Everyone who owes me money. Just cancel it, all debts paid. Then I want you to help me learn how to turn us all legit. I want to turn our business legal. You think you can help me with that?” Bog asked, his arm around Thang's shoulders. “You would be my right hand man; well, you and Stuff.” 

Thang stared at Bog. “Are you serious sir?” 

Bog chuckled. “Bog. Call me Bog and aye, I'm serious. I want us all to go straight and I'm counting on you to help me make that happen.” 

Thang grinned giving Bog a salute. “You got it Bog!” 

Bog laughed. Thang thought he had never heard anything as cheerful as Bog King's laugh. 

* 

Bog drove to Sunny and Dawn's house. He was especially nervous because he was hoping Marianne would be there. 

Bog schooled his face, wanting to look like his old self, but the smile, now that he had started to smile again, just would not stay off his face. So when Sunny answered the door, the shocked expression on his face at seeing Bog had Bog bursting out with laughter. 

Sunny stepped back. “M—Mr. King?” 

Bog grinned. “Call me Bog. I just stopped by to tell you that you owe me nothing.” 

“What?” Sunny asked. Dawn had joined him when she heard the surprise in Sunny's voice. “Sunny what's...Mr. King?” 

Bog smiled. “Please—Bog. Simply Bog. I was just telling Sunny that you're debt to me is canceled and well...I was hoping you would let me make it up to you...my behavior I mean. I'm going to be working with my people to go legit and when I do I would like to offer you a job Sunny. Until then I would like to pay your rent and take care of you....you know...just to invest in a future employee.” Bog smiled as 

Dawn stared. 

“Are...are you serious.” 

“Yes, very. I...I realized I needed to make a change in my life. Not just giving up what I do, but...I need to invite more people in...and...well...” Bog blushed. Dawn moved past 

Sunny and threw her arms around Bog. “That's the Bog I knew!! There you are!!” 

She hugged him tight. 

Sunny chuckled. “Ah...well would you like to come in?” 

Bog asked shyly. “Is...is ah...Marianne here?” 

Dawn grinned. “No, but I can give you her address.” 

* 

Late that night on his way home, Bog stopped at a light and pulled out the piece of paper that Dawn had given him. Dawn had assured him that Marianne would be happy to see him, but he wasn't so sure. Bog looked down at the piece of paper, highlighted in the traffic light. He puffed nervously on his cigarette, blowing out a stream of smoke from the side of his mouth; he wasn't sure if he should go over there this late, but he felt that this couldn't wait until morning. 

Bog took a deep breath and set the paper down reaching up to adjust his rear view mirror in order to look at himself. His hair was all over the place, but he looked less pale and his eyes seemed brighter. He thought about driving home and at least making himself more presentable, but again...he didn't want to waste the time. 

Bog took a deep breath, smashed the cigarette in the car's ash tray, and when the light changed, he turned left, driving toward the apartment building where Marianne lived. 

* 

Marianne had decided to spend Christmas alone this year. Sunny and Dawn needed the time together. She had stopped by in the afternoon to drop off her gift and stayed for only a little while before she had come home to a good book and a carton of egg nog. 

That was what she was doing now, curled in her recliner wearing a long red and black flannel shirt that reached to her knees, a long pair of green thermal pants and some slouch socks with reindeer on them that Dawn had knitted for her. She had a tiny Christmas tree that was sitting on her living room table, a few other decorations that Dawn had put on when she had visited last and a plush snowman that was currently under her head. 

She was sipping on her spiked eggnog reading a horrible romance novel that Dawn had given her when a knock sounded at her door. Marianne narrowed her eyes at the door. The knock came again. Muttering, Marianne got up, grabbing the baseball bat she kept beside the door. Leaving the chain on, she opened it. 

“Who...” but then her next words failed her when she saw Bog standing there. His hair was curling and flecked with snowflakes, he wasn't wearing a tie, his shirt unbuttoned as was his coat. His cheeks were rosy and his blue eyes....his eyes had life in them again. 

“Marianne...could...I talk to you?” Bog asked softly. 

Marianne stared at him, ready to say no, but there was something about the way he was looking at her...the set to his lips...it reminded her of the man she had wanted to marry. She reached up and slid the lock aside opening the door. 

“Sure.” She stepped aside. 

Bog stepped in and Marianne shut the door closed behind him. She set the bat down and looked at him confused. “What do you want? I mean, you were pretty clear last night.” 

Bog looked down at his pointed shoes watching the snow melt away. “I...I realized what a fool I was being Marianne. How much time and life I let go because I was scared, isolated...alone. I wanted to punish myself and then that extended to others...I wanted others to feel as wretched as I did, but now I realized how stupid I was being. I want to change my life. I want to be a better man. I want to be the man that deserves you again.” Bog fumbled and pulled out the ring he had given her all those years ago held between the tips of his fingers. 

Marianne let out a startled gasp, throwing her hands up to her mouth. Behind her fingers in awe she whispered. “You kept it? All this time?” 

Bog nodded. “Aye. I never stopped loving you Marianne. Not once.” 

“Why didn't you come get me? Why didn't you tell me?” Marianne began to tear up. 

“Because...I wasn't...I didn't deserve you.” Bog hung his head. “I...I still don't, but I don't want to waste any more time. If you still love me...I want to change. I want to win you back.” 

He reached over and took one of her hands, placing the ring in her palm. 

“I want you to hold on to this. Maybe one day I will earn the privilege of having you wear it again.” Bog said softly. 

Marianne swallowed, tears rolling down her cheeks as she took the ring and slid it onto her finger. 

“You already did.” 

She threw herself into his surprised arms, reaching up to grabbed his face and pull him down to her, covering his mouth with her own in a kiss that sent chills up his spine. 

He was hesitant to put his arms around her, but finally, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet. 

Marianne giggled, pulling back from his mouth, though not far. “The goatee tickles. I like it and I love you Bog. I never stopped loving you either, not for a moment.” 

Bog grinned brightly and whispered against her mouth. “Merry Christmas my Marianne.” 

“Merry Christmas Bog.” Marianne giggled. “Now come here and let me give you a gift.” 

Bog blinked at her then grinned stupidly as she took his hand and led him toward her bedroom.


End file.
